Fridgegate

I lost the battle with the fridge. I have one in the garage that is a fridge freezer and there is nothing wrong with it, but hubby will not bring it into the house because "how long will it last for?" was the response. So off he's tootled with the old fridge and the "on the way out" microwave to take to the skip, and bring back a shiny, spanking new fridge that we don't need because we have one in the garage. It'll be him that askes me where all the money goes, and complains that I'm constantly penniless, but what is the point?

I've been on the phone to the DWP to ask about the mortgage interest payments and that's in hand, and I've tried to find out about NI contributions but the man hasn't phoned me back yet, and I've spoken to his nurse who is going to try to get an appointment for this week but isn't holding out much hope.

At the moment I feel like I'm on a lifeboat out at sea with no signs of land and my lifejacket fell overboard weeks ago. People saying "isn't he doing well" and "well, he's tired - just tell him not to do things" and GRRRRRRRR. You can't tell him anything, if you do he does the complete opposite whilst sticking his fingers at you. I have to plant a seed of thought or let him think things are his idea, but everyone else says he's fine, so there you go Constantly Trying - you're wrong. Again.

Every time you think things are stabilised this sodding illness comes along and pulls the rug out from under your feet. I don't even know why I lull myself into the false sense of security that things stabilise anymore - I'm intelligent, I'm not stupid, but there I go again starting to feel comfortable and Dementia just pops it's ugly head up and proves me wrong. Again.

On a positive note, Biggey's textiles homework is so good that it's being put up on the wall to show other children how it should be done. Yay :o)